


every exit is an entrance somewhere else

by FrushCrush



Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Childhood Memories, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Melancholy, Natural Disasters, Pre-Canon, Trick or Treat 2019, Trick or Treat Exchange 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 06:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21157307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrushCrush/pseuds/FrushCrush
Summary: In the year Granddad died, Possum Springs saw the worst flood since 1998.(Or; maybe this house is haunted after all.)





	every exit is an entrance somewhere else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonofeternal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofeternal/gifts).

> Wow, I really love writing NitW stuff! Mae’s definitely one of my fave video game protagonists – she deals (or doesn’t deal) with things in a such a realistic way that it really makes you ache. What other game could start with an entry about a deep loss without feeling somewhat disingenuous or preachy? It’s not all about Granddad’s death, but it’s a snapshot of Mae’s associations during that time – it’s a ghost story, but not in the way most people would think, I guess.
> 
> (This is technically my second time writing for NitW, but my other one is posted on my main AO3. Maybe I’ll link it here once authors get revealed?)
> 
> I’m honestly not sure if this counts as a trick or a treat, but I feel it’s somewhat fitting in that regard. I originally wanted to write something darker about the Black Goat Cult, but things at my jobs got too hectic recently and I didn’t have enough time to sort all my thoughts out. (As it is, I completely changed where this was going as I sat down to write this fic out!) Still, I hope you enjoy this small story!

In the year her Granddad died, a record-breaking flood tore through Possum Springs. As with all weather worth noting, it had only meant the worst for those left in its path.

Folks who had lived their whole lives under the same roof were forced to evacuate or to sit on damp couches and watch their walls swell up like sponges. Little battery-powered radios blared safety warnings between Bruce Springsteen songs and Garbo & Malloy sponsored traffic reports: _ locate and protect all your important documents, check your surroundings before attempting to turn anything on, stay in the upper levels of your residence when possible._

Those who had settled on higher ground understandably fared better. The Church of the First Coalescence was left practically untouched, save for an upturned rose bush and some paint that peeled away from one of the doors. Mae’s mother had claimed it was because God was watching over it; of course, it had nothing to do with the building being the town’s only weather shelter since its founding in the 1790s. In spring, her Girl Scout troop would donate half their cookie profits and far too many Saturday mornings than necessary in an effort to help repair the damage, while shops along Main Street shuttered due to irreparable losses.

The Borowskis had stayed put, windows sealed with cut-up trash bags and packing tape. In her attic room, Mae combed through apple crates, deciding which memories were worth saving as rain slammed against the siding. She wanted to scream _it’s not fair_ to anyone who would listen, but nothing came out. Even if it did, the power had been cut for two days already and Gregg was God-knows-where.

A small cross was still visible on her Charity Bearity calendar – she was _supposed_ to be in mourning.

She had never seen a dead body before that day. Sure, she had read countless horror stories and even watched a few movies on cable long after she was supposed to be asleep, but words and chocolate syrupy blood were a far cry from seeing someone she loved in a coffin. He had been in the hospital for some time, looking smaller than she figured she was, a faded blue gown draped loose around his form. He was still happy to tell her a story whenever he visited, and still did so long after she had gone home for the day.

She worried that the water would wash him back to land on their front step. The earth was still soft below his temporary marker, a fistful of dirt covering the lid by her own doing. _This is how zombies are made,_ she thought. _They’re coming to get you, Mae Borowski._ Through the thin plastic, she saw a shadow glide down her street. Panic gripped her chest tight; her claws shredded a section away before she could stop herself.

Instead of a coffin, she witnessed a beat-up boat teeter back and forth, unskillfully paddled by a friend of a friend. The Hartley boy looked up at her window and grinned, the shiny yellow coat doing nothing to keep his tangled fur dry. She laughed, even as her eyes spilled over with tears, blurring her vision until he was just a blob of yellow getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

Wiping her face with the back of her sleeve, Mae went back to her books, spines thin from wear and pages yellowed by time. Even with Harfest still weeks away, a small notebook with _Adina and the Ghost Star_ scribbled on the cracked cover caught her eye. She flipped through it and landed on a random page, scanning over her Granddad’s handwriting.

_ In their wings, in their trees, all things die, be at peace._

Her lamp flickered on, a dull glow emanating from where it sat beside her bed. Mae laughed, her world distorting once more.


End file.
